Looking Glass
by The Slash Foundation
Summary: Series of one-shots based on prompts. Various wrestlers and pairings. Slash. May or may not be explicit, silly, angsty, anything goes.
1. Chapter 1

The Slash Foundation Prompt Posts

RULES

This is how this post works.

Since I started off the post, I have chosen a random word to make my story around. At the end of my story, I put up a random word, and any or all three of my fellow Slash Foundation members can write a short fic (length doesn't matter there is no too long or too short) around that word if you are inspired to do so. When you post up your contribution for that prompt, include a new word for the prompt at the bottom…and it continues.

At the top of your post, include your pen name and the prompt you are writing in response to.

Get it? So, here we go.

Author: Wrestlefan4

Prompt: Notepad

Chris ran his finger over the spiral metal at the notepads edge. It was new, the blue-lined pages undefiled with his scratchy, nearly indecipherable script. He stretched out on his bed and opened it, shifting against the mattress which felt like it had rocks in it, or maybe he'd just taken too many bumps. He chewed at the plastic end of his pen until the cap was warped and crushed with tiny dental indentions. He plucked it off and studied it tweezed between his two fingers. It wasn't even salvageable, but it was only a cheap hotel stick pen, there were millions more from where they came, each name on the colored casing always different, and yet in the barest sense, always the same.

He turned his attention back to the fresh white page before him. Blank, it stared him down, just demanding him to put down at least one word. This was perhaps the hardest thing he'd done in his entire life. With a sigh he pressed the tip to the paper and carefully drew the strokes that made up a name that was very familiar to him. It was one that had rolled from his tongue many times in love, anger, passion, laughter—but this one, unspoken version of the dear name, was so different from any of the others.

He placed the comma after the two t's and stopped, dragging his fingers through his gelled hair and twisting the bleached plume in annoyance. He told himself he was a coward this way, for doing it by written words rather than phone or even better (or worse) face to face. He just couldn't bring himself to do that though. He couldn't bring himself to witness the heartache on the face of the man that he loved when he confessed what had happened, and why he was ending their relationship. He didn't even realize that he was crying, until he saw the fat drops plummet to the sheet bellow and wet it. The places where the salty drops touched thin blue lines, caused the ink to fuzz up like an out of focus picture, and that's really what this whole situation seemed like, one huge fucked up, out of focus picture. Only Chris could manage to ruin something so perfect, by giving himself up to another in a moment of drunkenness. What was worse, was who had gripped his shoulders, and moved pleasurably inside of him, as he bent to all fours like a dog, and accepted it like a slut.

With one sweep of his hand, he tore the page away and crumpled it into a tight little ball, and lobbed it across the room where it bounced off the wall and tumbled behind his suitcase. The notepad was left depleted of one of its 100 wide-ruled sheets. The curly spine was left with a ragged edge of paper remains that had held onto the rings, like tiny clutching fingers. He chewed the cap between his teeth, furrowing his brow, trying to come up with the exact words.

He'd seemed to have been sitting there for hours of heart stopping monotony, faced with the daunting, guilt inducing task, when his phone vibrated against his hip. He rolled over and fished it out, swallowing hard when the name of the man he was trying to compose to flashed across the small screen.

"Hello?" He said, his voice coming out small sounding.

There was pause where nothing could be heard but ragged breathing. It was breathing that Chris was sure was laced with tears, maybe anger. He closed his eyes tight, as his own sorrow wet his lashes and trailed down his cheeks. _He knows._

"Jeff called me."

The words drawled in Southern accent were broken, and the click of the phone that followed, let Chris know that there was nothing that could be done to fix those splintered words, or the heart that matched them. He put his phone away, and turned his watery, cobalt gaze back to the notebook that laid splayed open on the bed, like the legs of a whore, like he had that night. With an angry cry, he slapped it closed. The cover seemed to leer back at him, boasting its 100 wide-ruled sheets, only now there were just 99. His fingers slid over the red cover, feeling the incompleteness. He rolled from the bed, and slowly crossed the room. He reached behind his suitcase and his hand wrapped around the crinkled ball he'd tossed there moments ago. Inside that ball was Matt's name, written on the first, tear-fuzzed line, on a sheet of paper which had been carelessly torn away. Now it could never be replaced--it was just a scrap crushed in the hand of a fool.

Next prompt: Feet


	2. Prompt: Feet

**Author: slashburd**

**Prompt: Feet**

"_What if we fly and dive off the edge of the end of the world as we know it?  
What if we fly? Have faith enough to think fate might just know where we're going.  
What if the arms of the wind carry us to the place we never could find?  
Yes we might fall, but what if we fly?"_

I never wanted to go line dancing. I'm not one of nature's dancers and you already knew that. Our disastrous first dance after our wedding was enough to convince everyone there that I was destined for a life of propping up the bar and telling bad jokes. I can only imagine what it would've been like if one of us had had to wear a dress. Can you imagine my size eleven's caught up in a train of ivory taffeta? Although saying all that Shawn, I can well imagine that you would've dared to turn up in a dress just to shock them all.

The country songs played out all night long and I stood there looking like the only guy at a kd Lang concert, awkward and out of place. I'd gone the whole hog at your request, plaid shirt, ten gallon and a pair of faded jeans so tight half the place could have picked my ass out of a lineup. I did however draw the line at the toothpick you tried to give me to chew on. You'd scraped my hair back into a ponytail and tied it low down with a band so it hung down my back just so, just how you liked it.

You were a natural at dancing. The star that stole the show like you always were. Round the room you stepped it out, no shortage of partners waiting to take your hand in the squares or stand alongside you in the lines. The boots you wore were scuffed and scruffy but I never stopped watching them while you were dancing. It was as if they moved and you just followed them. I had to laugh at how you looked a damn sight less brokeback that I did though. That white button down tucked into your jeans had been deliberately left open just a button too low and the bolo tie hung loosely, the cowhead slide twinkling in the artificial lights of the barn.

By the time you'd had your fill of dancing I was stood at the end of the bar nursing a glass of whisky, my hat tilted down over my eyes and a thumb hooked into my belt loops. I figured if I looked cowboy I might as well play cowboy. I never saw you coming until those boots came into sight. With one finger I pushed my hat above level with my eyes and then tipped it at you, unable to stop myself laughing at the overegged curtsy I got in return.

The MC called the last dance of the night and I offered you my arm which you accepted as graciously as any barn dance débutante. I led you out onto the floor, damning to hell any looks we may have got from the crowd. You slipped your arms up onto my shoulders and I locked mine around your waist, careful not to crease your shirt. You'd ask me later why I held you so carefully and the truth is that I didn't want to spoil the vision of perfection that you were to me. Like all the angels had converged into one and stood there in my arms that night, I knew then as I always had that you were all I could ever want.

I'd already been busy myself earlier in the night, asking the MC to get the band to play a particular song to end the night. It was the song I spoiled to on our special day. I'd always said I'd make it up to you and there it was, the only way I knew how to do it. When you heard the words of the song you knew what it was and I saw the tears well up in your eyes. That song meant so much to both of us, all about taking a chance, taking that shot at the kind of happiness that doesn't come along very often. All our risks had been made worth it in the end, just to be together was all we ever wanted.

My dancing remained poor despite the practice I'd convinced some of the guys to give me at work but at least this time I stayed upright for the entire song and didn't stamp on your toes once. I was lucky that the massive hat you made me wear stopped me getting close enough to you to steal the kiss I wanted. You read me like an open book and smiled your widest smile and with that I'd as good as kissed you anyway. See Shawn, I guess I already knew what the deal was with us. I knew it would be forever and that's all I wanted; to spend forever and day loving you from the top of your head to the toes on your feet.

* * *

_Lyrics borrowed from Chely Wright – What If We Fly_

* * *

**Next prompt: Blanket**


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